Going The Distance
by AriesTaurus
Summary: The sky is starting to glow pink with the coming dawn when Steve pushes to his feet and walks over to his partner, placing a hand on his shoulder. He's not expecting Danny to come quietly. Another tag for 2.15, rating for a few bad words.


A/N :Yes. Another tag to 2.15. I know but I had to write it. Thanks to Schnerb for beta-reading so any remaining mistakes are mine.

* * *

The sky is starting to glow pink with the coming dawn when Steve pushes to his feet and walks over to his partner, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon. You need some rest," he says. He's not expecting Danny to come quietly. Hell, if it was him, he wouldn't go at all, probably what Danny has in mind; never letting Grace out of his sight again. Ever.

Mother and child are asleep together on the hospital bed, an IV slowly dripping fluids into the little girl's veins. The day had been hot, enough to turn the storage locker's concrete box into a furnace. Thankfully, Grace hadn't been in it long enough to cause anything other than mild dehydration. Danny has been sitting beside the bed, hand on his daughter's wrist, unmoving for hours.

Steve had taken his own vigil in the hallway, waiting and watching, until now. He can see his partner beginning to flag, slight tremors running the length of his arms and back. The adrenaline has kept him going far longer than he'd anticipated but Danny is _done_.

"Hey, c'mon," he repeats.

"I can't. Promised her I'd be here when she wakes up," Danny says, his voice a gravely whisper.

"Five minutes. Let's take a walk."

Danny sighs and struggles to his feet, holding on to the bed until his legs stop wobbling but Steve doesn't comment, simply walks half a step behind, watchful, just in case.

They end up outside. The air is cool from the night but the coming dawn promises another perfect day.

Danny's flagging, even more so now. He can't walk straight and his breathing's getting uneven.

"C'mon. I'm taking you home. You need some rest." Danny hasn't noticed Steve's been guiding him towards the Camaro, parked out front in the fire lane, the same place it's been for hours.

Danny shakes his head. "No. I need to…"

Steve jumps forward just as Danny's legs buckle. "Yeah. I think you need to sit down."

He drags Danny's arm over his shoulders, stooping a little. His back doesn't appreciate the angle but it takes all of thirty seconds for him to get the car door open and sit Danny down sideways on the passenger seat.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," Danny mutters, leaning forward, head hanging low, hands laced behind his head. His voice is rough and heavy with emotion and Steve's own throat is a bit tight.

"Stop apologizing." Steve's tone isn't harsh, not quite but he's a bit frazzled too and just maybe wants Danny to be okay, to be his good old abrasive self, not this apologetic, washed out mess but then again, he's entitled. Somehow Steve hopes this is as far as it will go, guilt-wise for Danny. He knows full well it won't; that Danny, being Danny, will go on an all-out guilt trip and hell if he lets it happen. At the moment though, he's more concerned about the adrenaline dump that's coming. It's going to be bad, no matter what he does. He still wonders how Danny managed to keep going so long before it all caught up to him.

"Fuck," Danny says and it pretty much sums it up.

"Yeah." Steve agrees. "Get in."

Danny lifts his head. "No. I promised her-"

"You want her to see you in this state?"

"I…" And just like that, Danny deflates.

"Get in," Steve says again, not feeling guilty one bit about his bullying.

Danny does and he wastes no time in going around and getting them on the road. He heads straight for his place, hoping Danny can hold it together till they get there but he's not holding out much hope.

He can hear his partner breathe heavily, pulling at his shirt collar.

"You okay Danny?" he says, biting off the 'Danno' that came to his lips. It's the last nickname Danny needs to hear right now.

Danny coughs and clears his throat. "Yeah. Turn down the A/C would you?"

He does, a bit, ignoring the shaking in Danny's voice. He can see his partner starting to shiver from the massive adrenaline crash. Hopefully he won't slip into full-on shock but because Danny Williams never does anything halfway, Steve's concern is not misplaced. In the fifteen minutes it takes to get to his place, Danny gets progressively worse.

When he pulls into his driveway, Danny's a trembling, uncoordinated mess. Steve jumps out of the Camaro and jogs to the passenger side, wrenching the door open. He maneuvers Danny so he's sitting sideways again and shoves his head between his knees, keeping a hand between the heaving shoulder blades. The skin under the shirt feels clammy and cold despite the lingering heat of the day. Steve withdraws his hand only long enough to take his shirt off and drape it over Danny's shoulders. It isn't much but it helps.

"So, I know you're about a million miles from okay but… You all right?" he asks.

"Why 's it so cold?" Danny asks, shivering.

"Adrenaline crash from hell, brah. You need to lie down a bit. Think you can walk?"

"Guess we'll… find out…"

Turns out Danny's just enough together to get himself inside and to the couch. Once he dumps him there, Steve pushes him on his back, elevates his feet and covers him with a blanket. He jogs to the fridge for some Gatorade and forces it down his partner's throat, until some colour finally returns to his face.

"You good?" he asks as Danny pushes off the blanket.

"Yeah."

Steve doesn't push, doesn't offer an ear, not yet. Danny may be over the initial shock but he's not okay, by far. He watches as his partner sits up on the couch and buries his head in his hands.

"Hey. You needed a break, Danny," he says, knowing how the guilt is eating Danny up for leaving the hospital but Danny would hate him more for letting Grace see him like this.

"I need to be with her," he says, his voice breaking and Steve can hear the tears he can't see in that voice.

"Not like this."

"I… I can't… like this… I can't do this now… I just…" It's more a plea for understanding than anything else, Danny finding justification for what he undoubtedly thinks is abandoning his terrified, traumatized child in her hour of need but Steve understands. Grace needs her father to be a rock at the moment and he can't be that rock, not right now. He doesn't even want to contemplate what headspace Danny's in after the hell he just went through. But Danny's lucky; his daughter's alive and well, safe in her mother's arms. And yeah, he can admit it to himself, that for a selfish, insensitive moment, he felt a little jealous, or rather envious of all this all ended for Danny. He's in a shitty headspace but Grace is alive and they'll all move past this soon enough.

Happy endings don't really happen to him and sometimes he wishes like hell they would but he's not that selfish of a bastard to really resent Danny for his good fortune. He's glad Danny's okay, that his daughter is okay and he's glad to be there to pick up the pieces. It's his job, after all. It's what partners do, or so Danny keeps pounding into his head.

"I know," he says simply.

"I'm just…"

"I _know_," he says, catching Danny's eye. "She needs Danno the indestructible dad, not Danny Williams the human being who just went through hell and needs a few hours to piece himself back together," he explains, eyes serious and intense. He sees the relief in Danny's eyes, the gratitude and it's almost too painful to watch. He gives himself permission to look away when Danny's blue eyes fill with tears and drop to the floor.

"I shot Stan."

"He's okay."

"I _shot him_, Steve."

"I know."

"If… If you hadn't… Christ… I think I'd 've killed him," he says brokenly. His breath chokes in his throat and he stumbles to his feet and bolts towards the downstairs bathroom. Steve resists the urge to run right on his heels but he follows nonetheless.

He finds him where he knew he would, draped over the toilet. He's already thrown up the Gatorade and he's moved on to dry-heaving, body jackknifing in two with each fruitless spasm.

He puts a hand on the back Danny's his neck and squeezes gently.

"Easy, Danny. Easy. Take a breath."

It's more a sob than a breath and Steve keeps his hand on Danny's neck.

"Easy, Danny. Relax. Just breathe."

Danny's frame goes taunt as he retches again, bringing up dark bile that stains the water an ugly shade of brown. He coughs and draws in a heaving breath.

"Hey, hey, come on, Danny. Breathe. With me. In and out."

After a while, it works. Danny's breaths slow down, the mostly fruitless heaving stops and Steve breathes his own sigh of relief. He flushes the toilet and grabs a washcloth from the counter, wetting it with cold water. He hands it to his partner wordlessly, shaking his head when Danny won't look at him.

"I almost-"

"You didn't," Steve cuts off. There is no good ending to that sentence so he just doesn't give Danny a chance to finish it.

"I-"

"Danny, don't. Look at me."

"Look at me," he says again when Danny doesn't move.

It takes a while but Danny's eyes lift up to his, full of tears, self-loathing, fear and regret. He doesn't have the details yet, doesn't know what happened in the hours Danny was off the grid under Peterson's control. He's missing some critical pieces of the puzzle but he's got the big picture in his head and it's enough for him to know what's going on in Danny's mind and he will _not_ let it eat Danny up. He will not let that bastard Peterson win.

"Grace is safe because of your actions. You did the best you could, under the hardest of circumstances so give yourself a break, all right? None of this was your fault, okay?"

"I-"

"You got me?" he says harshly, not allowing the self-doubt, the guilt and self-flagellation any hold on his partner. He wants to smile when Danny nods even though he drops his gaze back to the floor.

"I got you."

"Good. Now come on. You need to get off this floor."

"I need a drink," Danny says, grabbing the hand he's offering.

* * *

Half an hour later, Danny is in one of the beach chairs behind his house, watching the sun rise. Steve gave him some space, going inside to get them some food, despite it being nearly midnight.

He's on his way back out, a bottle of water and a sandwich in his hands and he hopes he can get Danny to eat.

"You need to eat something," Steve says, shoving the food and drink at his partner.

"I'm not really hungry."

"You haven't had anything since lunch yesterday. I can't just let you drink on an empty stomach," he says, tossing his head towards the other beach chair and the bottle of Patròn resting on it.

"Oh. That changes everything," Danny says, grabbing the food and wolfing it down, followed by the bottle of water.

* * *

The bottle of Tequila is halfway gone in no time at all. Steve's only had a couple. He hates the stuff but Danny loves it and Danny would keep going, drink the whole thing if Steve would let him but he won't let it go that far. They're not twenty anymore and HPD needs their statements in the morning. Or, later today.

"Never even crossed my mind," Danny says slowly.

"What didn't?"

"That he'd be the one to come after me. Peterson."

Steve's chuckle is harsh. "You never know. Never expect it. There's so many of them. We forget them, most times and because we don't think like them. Because we'd never go after their family," he says, Victor and Anton Hesse's faces clear in his mind, mocking his own words. He didn't go after Anton to get to Victor, even if that's how the bastard chose to see it.

"Cause we're honorable. We're good guys." Danny's words are dripping sarcasm bordering on disdain. Sometimes, being a good guy _sucks._

"Yeah."

"Can you believe he tried to convince me I was wrong to do what I did? That he was a good cop? That _I'm_ the one who let him down?"

Steve shakes his head. Danny doesn't need to hear about sociopathic behavior, about the inability to feel remorse, accept responsability, feel empathy or guilt. Steve's good at reading people. Psychology is something he excels at. If you want to be any good at the Intelligence game, you have to be able to read people, play them, use them and so he knows exactly what Rick Peterson is; he's possibly the most beautiful case of narcissistic behavior he's ever seen outside a terrorist organisation.

"What, you mean you didn't know you were supposed to say _you_ took those drugs and guns?" Steve answers, his own sarcasm scathing.

"He was right."

"What the hell does that mean?" he asks, shocked and completely baffled. What the hell is Danny talking about?

"I stole money when it suited me, Steve. 10 mil."

"You didn't. I did."

"Yeah well, I knew, didn't do shit about it."

"You're twisting facts, Danny. You were willing to go down for it. That's what makes you different. You did it to save a man's life, not for personal gain. Stop this."

"I shot a man for information."

"You shot the man who had your _daughter._ Duress, Danny. Extreme emotional duress."

"And Stan… I…"

"Same thing. Danny, stop. Stop this, you hear me?"

"No. Not the same. S'not what I meant. He… He… He gave me… permission. Said… for Grace. And… And I did it." He grabs the bottle of Tequila and takes a swig, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Danny-"

"I knew you were there. Heard you calling out. I knew what it meant. I knew you were there and I still did it."

That hits Steve in the gut like a ton of bricks. He… what? Shot Stan willingly? Knowing he didn't have to? He shakes his head, reeling. This conversation is giving him whiplash and he feels completely out of his depth, like he doesn't know the man beside him at all.

"I couldn't take that chance. If he had a partner… if… I couldn't… " Danny gets this funny look on his face and his voice strangles. He goes still, eyes closed. Steve doesn't have time to be relieved about Danny's intent, about why he really shot Stan with his team there. He wants to kick himself for thinking otherwise but his immediate concern for Danny takes precedence.

He can see the tears on his face now. He doesn't quite know what to do, doesn't know what Danny would want him to do but one thing's for sure, Danny's never been ashamed of his emotions so Steve takes a chance, gives him an opening.

"Danny?"

The man in question shakes his head and flops in the chair. "Think… I'm drunk."

Steve can't help the laugh that erupts from him. "Yeah, you are," he agrees.

He watches as Danny tries to get up and fails, dropping onto the sand. Steve gets to his feet and hauls him up, turning towards the house.

"Ugh. V'erything's spinning."

"Easy, Danny. You're all right," Steve says, putting his other hand on his drunk partner's back. He knows he's repeating himself but right now, Danny needs convincing. They both ignore the tears running from Danny's eyes but regardless of his state, Danny knows Steve saw them.

Danny laughs, a bit hysterically. "I am so, so not all right," he grinds out.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "And you're not drunk. You're completely trashed. Come on. Time to go to bed, sleep this off."

"Can't drive. M' wasted," he says, the hand that's not around Steve's waist drawing waving circles. "Trash'd, I mean."

"Yeah, Danny, I kinda noticed. How's my couch sound?"

"You're a great guy, y'know that? I mean. I know I complain an' shit but… You're a great guy, McGarrett," Danny slurs as Steve helps him up the beach and into the house.

"I know. You're not so bad either."

* * *

The sun's past its zenith when Danny wakes up, hung over, sullen and depressed. He calls Rachel, tells her he's sorry for leaving, that he didn't want Grace to see him in that state. He talks to his daughter too, and gets a ghost of a smile on his face and a promise to go see her as soon as he's done putting the bad man in jail.

After he's shoved him in the shower with aspirin and coffee, Steve takes Danny to HPD for a statement. He stands by his partner, a hand on his shoulder as Danny recounts the previous day's events. By the time he gets to Stan's shooting, Steve's seething with rage and slack-jawed with admiration.

He's not Danny, doesn't have his (yes he can admit it) respect for due process and the letter of the law. Despite being career military with all that it comes with in regards to following orders and rules, Steve knows firsthand how often laws protect criminals more than victims. To him, the law is often an obstacle to be circumvented. Duty and honor he understands and he also understands that a civilized society needs rules and laws to function but he knows human nature better. Danny once told him the law is what separates them from animals. He's not so sure.

Steve's seen animals much, much worse than Rick Peterson. Still, in Danny's shoes, he would have put a bullet in the bastard's head as soon as he'd gotten Gracie's location.

Danny won't be brought up on charges for either shootings. The DA knows very well there's no point in trying to make a case, that Danny's got a bulletproof duress defense, not to mention full immunity.

Once he's done, Danny looks washed out and exhausted. He doesn't say a word, simply gets in the passenger seat of the Camaro, staring out the window. Steve gets into the driver's side and silently takes him to Rachel's where he waits in the car.

He startles awake when someone knocks on the car window. He hasn't slept in 48 hours but he's a bit ashamed he fell asleep in the first place, even more so for just reacting as he wakes up, pointing his gun in Rachel's face before he actually register where he is and who's in front of him.

She doesn't look fazed as he apologizes and puts the gun back in its holster.

"It's not the first time I woke up a cop and ended with a gun in my face," she says, matter-of-fact. She's so Brit in that it makes Steve smile.

"How's Stan?" he asks.

"Coming home in a few hours. The bullet did minimal damage. I was told the shot was as least damaging as it could be, considering."

"Danny's a damned good shot," he says, holding her eyes.

"He is."

"He saved Grace's life, and so did Stan."

"I know. Doesn't help so much with the anger."

Somehow, the remark hits Steve wrong and anger flares bright and quick and he shifts his posture and frowns at Rachel, his eyes going hard.

"What was he supposed to do, Rachel?" he asks, barely keeping the venom out of his voice. He knows Danny's, Rachel's and Stan's positions in this are untenable but he's Danny's _partner_, his friend, the only one in his corner it seems.

She sighs and drops her gaze to the stone of the driveway. "I don't know. I know there's no right answer, that I should be grateful Grace is all right and that Danny's responsible for that but I can't get past the feeling that he's the one who put her there in the first place!"

"He is _not_," he says forcefully, getting out of the Camaro and basically getting into Rachel's face. "He's not responsible for Peterson's actions. He's the one who stalked all of you, kidnapped Grace and forced Danny's hand. He's the criminal. _He's _the one who made those choices."

"Danny could have looked the other way. Let this go. He didn't have to testify!"

Steve inhales sharply, reining in his anger because if he doesn't he'll say something he'll regret and maybe give cause to Danny to hit him again. "Really? You'd rather have been married to a dirty cop instead? Because what you're saying implies you'd rather play ostrich, have Danny turn a blind eye on a dirty cop and risking losing his job, his career, his income, _go to jail_, just so he doesn't ruffle a criminal's feathers, somehow avoiding maybe him coming after Danny once he's done his time?"

"That's not-"

"You were pregnant with Grace when he testified against Peterson, weren't you?"

"Yes but-"

"What do you think he was doing then, huh?"

"I don't-"

"Protecting his family, Rachel! Insuring you and Grace were safe and cared for. He did the right thing because that's what he does, who he is and it kills me that you can't see that," and makes me understand why you two never worked and never will, he doesn't add.

He shakes his head and sighs deeply. None of them have gotten much sleep and picking a fight with Danny's ex isn't something he wants to do.

"Look, Rachel…"

"Don't. Please. I… What I said was stupid. I… I thought Grace would be safer away from Danny but I know if someone truly wants to do harm, they'll always find a way. Once a cop's wife, always a cop's wife, no matter the distance. I just… Back home, being a police officer's wife is… different," she says.

"No one can blame you for wanting to feel safe," Steve says quietly and he has to wonder how Rachel could not understand that American cops and London Bobbies are two very, very different things. Steve can't imagine a police officer being unarmed and he knows, intellectually and culturally, that there's a vast difference between what Rachel was expecting and what she got. He wonders if this is why, despite the obvious love the two shared, Danny and Rachel's marriage failed.

"And I'm sure Danny's told you; you have every right to be pissed at him, but you know it wasn't his fault, right?" he asks.

Rachel sighs. "I do. He's afraid I'll try and take Grace away from him."

It's not a statement or a question. It's something in between and Steve feels like he's stepping into a minefield.

"Will you?"

Rachel sighs, deflating. She looks small, fragile, even, something Steve isn't used to associating with the feisty Brit.

"He kept her safe, no matter the cost to him or to anyone else. Danny would give his life for her, and I did love him, once, more than I can say. So no. I won't try and take Grace from him. Not that she'd let me," Rachel says with a light chuckle. "She's a lot like her father. The teenage years are going to be a challenge."

Steve smiles crookedly. "How's she doing?"

"All right, considering. Time will tell."

"She's a strong kid. She'll bounce back."

Rachel huffs, a sound full of derision but she smiles nonetheless, if a bit sadly. "She's a Willams, and a Brit. She's tough as they come."

"You kids behaving?" Danny calls out from the doorway, watching them carefully.

"We are, Daniel. Is Grace asleep?"

Danny nods, running a hand through his hair. From the distance, Steve can't tell for sure but Danny's eyes look red and bright with tears. "Yeah. Cried herself out."

Rachel drops her head. "I'm sorry Danny. I'm not trying to be difficult but-"

"I know. Doc said as much stability and routine as possible. I understand. 'Sides, this is all my fault," he said, dropping his gaze.

"She'll get through this. She's a strong girl," Rachel said, not unkindly but Steve could easily hear the anger under the polite tone.

"I'm-"

"Danny, please stop apologizing. You've done so already."

"I'll call her later."

"All right."

"Tell her I love her."

They drive in silence again but Danny's even more subdued now. He's facing the side window, eyes unfocused, distant.

"You okay?"

"I haven't watched Grace cry herself to sleep since the day I put her on a plane to Honolulu and she's now terrified of cops, so no. I'm not okay."

"She'll get through this, Danny. She's okay. She'll be all right."

"How do you know huh?" Danny exploded. "How do you have any idea of what this feels like, huh? That my kid was taken from me, that she may never be the same again because of what I did?"

"I know what it feels like, Danny," Steve said quietly but Danny's anger isn't to be denied and Steve's willing to bear the brunt of it, if it helps Danny move past his own demons. God knows he's been there for him when the mess with the Governor came to a head.

"You have no friggin _idea_ of what this feels like! You're not a parent. You don't have kids. You don't know what it feels like to be on the other end of that phone, when he tells you he has your whole world in his hands and he'll just destroy it, just to see you bleed!"

Steve inhales slowly, willing his own anger into a tight box but he can't keep all of hit out of his voice, the hurt still too fresh even after over a year.

"You forget, Danny, that I _was_ there," he hisses, "that I _was_ in your shoes. I got that call. My dad was held hostage and _shot dead_ and I listened to it all go down, because I got Anton Hesse killed. So don't tell me I don't know what this feels like," he grinds out. He can still hear himself screaming over the deafening report of the gunshot, half a world away, powerless. Alone.

"You're not alone, Danny, okay? You're not," he says, voice low.

Danny barks out some sort of laugh/sob, Steve isn't sure which but he thinks, caught in his misery as he is, Danny actually forgot how and why they met.

"I am such an ass," he says after a while.

"Yeah, sometimes," Steve agrees.

"I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that."

"I'm trying to apologize, okay?"

"And I keep telling you to stop, yet you keep on doing it."

"Because I need to."

"Why?" Steve asks and waits.

"Because—bec… I…"

Steve waits while Danny mutters and stutters, trying to find something to say, knowing he won't because there really is nothing to apologize for.

"See? No need," Steve says genially, grinning. He watches Danny splutter indignantly, watches as the Danny he knows so well comes back from that dark place and sets himself right. Steve lets himself laugh and doesn't mind the knuckles that bean his shoulder hard enough to bruise, recognizes it for the Danny-speak it is.

It means thank you. Mahalo.

Fin


End file.
